


Gavino: Origins

by rage_quitter



Series: Immortal FAHC Origin Stories [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Descriptions of the plague, Fake AH Crew, Immortality, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_quitter/pseuds/rage_quitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young nobleman, stricken with the plague, lives on for another 600 years, and becomes one of the most feared criminals in America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gavino: Origins

Gavin wasn’t his real name, but people called him so regardless. The name stemmed from his own childhood inability to say his proper name, Gawain.

He was a nobleman, with ancestors from Rome, his family boasted. While hardly in line for the throne, he was rich and had plenty of land and servants and peasants that he would inherit once he completed his formal schooling and found a wife. He had more interest in the first than the second.

That was how it was supposed to go. And then the Black Death ravaged Europe.

It didn’t really affect Gavin’s life very much, not at first. His family lost some money, lost some peasants who rented their land, but as a nobleman Gavin wasn’t exposed to it very much.

And then Gavin got sick.

It started the way it always did. Coughing, headaches, weakness, chills, fever. Gavin hid his symptoms well. He impressed himself; most people died within a week. He had the beginning symptoms longer than most people had gone through the entire ordeal.

His attempts to hide his illness fell apart when it, six days after it started, took a very sharp downfall. He woke up later that day in agony. His body hurt all over and parts of his skin were swollen and tender and ached horribly. His stomach felt twisted and he vomited blood. Within days parts of his hands and feet turned black and cold and smelled like rotting flesh.

His family called in doctors from all over the country. Gavin saw black birds in his nightmares, picking at his rotting skin with strong herbal smells wafting over him as he cried in pain, overwhelming him. The herbs were almost as bad as the disease.

He did not recover.

Weak, his body exhausted and rotting as he struggled to intake breath, he told his parents he was sorry for not trying very hard in school. He wished his younger brother good luck. They brought in a priest and he had his last rites. He, dizzily and too softly for anyone to hear, mumbled his confessions. Prepared to see heaven, Gavin let go of his disease-ruined body and welcomed the darkness of death.

When he opened his eyes, he was expecting God to look a lot more… divine. But this was more bovine. The cow mooed at him. Gavin yelped and scrambled to his feet.

He stood in a field, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing when he died, but cleaner now. His parents had helped him dress nicely that morning so he would look like the nobleman he was when he met the Lord. He moved his hat from his hands to his head.

Why did heaven look like a pasture?

Presently he heard a voice call, “Hail, fellow!” and turned to see an older man hobbling toward him. Gavin met him halfway. “Pardon me, sir,” Gavin asked, “But can you tell me where I am?”

“You’re on the land belonging to the Baron Free and his family. My household resides here.”

He was… outside? On his own land? “And who might you be, good sir?”

“I am Ralf. Are you… lost?”

“I… do believe I am.” Gavin was unwilling to say who he was, for some reason.

“Do not be afraid, sir. Where are you looking to go?”

Heaven, Gavin wanted to say. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t… remember…”

A light seemed to brighten in the man’s eyes. Gavin bristled; he thought Gavin was a drunkard! Well, he did enjoy drink a lot, but it was not the case! He held his tongue as the man spoke. “Worry not. If you wish, you may rest at my house for a while until you regain your bearings. My wife Beatrice will be happy to help you. Come with me.” The man held out his hand.

Gavin hesitated, but he had no other option at this point unless he wanted to wander the fields until he died… again. He shook Ralf’s hand and followed him over the grazing field to a small cottage.

Beatrice was outside tending to a small vegetable garden beside the slightly crooked front door. The house looked far too tiny for a person to live in comfortably, in Gavin’s opinion. Ralf had Gavin wait a few feet back while he greeted his wife.

“God save ye, dear,” Beatrice said to Gavin once she had been introduced. “I’ll be glad to make you a meal if you’re hungry.”

“That’s very nice of you, ma’am, thank you,” Gavin said. “I greatly appreciate it.”

He was led into the small house, which felt surprisingly cozy and the fire popping in the hearth made it warm in the damp spring air. There were only three rooms: a small bedroom, a main room and dining area combined, and a connected kitchen, from which Gavin could smell something lovely. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the smell met his nose.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll bring soup and bread in a moment. I’m afraid we are almost out of wine, although we do have ale and beer, if you like.”

Gavin opened his mouth to ask if he could have the rest of the wine, but found himself saying, “Ale is quite all right.” They were poor. They didn’t recognize him. They didn’t even ask for his name.

Beatrice bowed her head and headed into the kitchen to fetch the meal for Gavin. Gavin, left alone in the living area since Ralf had gone back out to tend to his small herd of cattle, wandered the tiny room and examined the meager furnishings. They were well worn, but felt comfortable, lived in. It felt alien to the nobleman, who grew up in an impressive castle of stone with magnificent tapestries and furniture and décor. He jumped as Beatrice returned from the kitchen with a tray of wooden dishes and fumbled to return the things he had been looking at. She smiled knowingly as the clumsy man took his seat and set the tray in front of him. It was a bowl of what appeared to be a beef stew, a plate with a chunk of bread and a smaller lump of cheese, and a cup of ale. It was unlike the ornate and expensive meals he was used to, and he had to admit to himself as he ate that it wasn’t quite as good, but not as bad as he thought peasant food would be. The bread was tougher and grainier, the cheese was harder and sharper, and the soup was slightly bland from a lack of spices, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“From where do you hail?” asked Beatrice as Gavin ate.

He nearly choked on his bread. “I, um…”

She laughed. “You must have been inebriated, sir, to have awoken in the middle of a field with no recollection whatsoever of where you are going or have been.”

Gavin huffed.

“Do you have a name and title?”

Gavin froze. Slowly, he spoke. “Yes. I do. I… My name is… Gawain.”

“Strange… that is the name of the son of the Baron for whom my husband and I are working.”

“Is it now?”

“Mmm. He’s recently come down with the Black Death, I’ve heard. Very sad, I hear he was a lovely lad, if a little scatterbrained. I never met him, personally.”

Gavin sipped the ale, hiding a cringe at the taste. Wine was much better. “Perhaps he will recover. Others have, right?”

“True. But it’s not likely, I don’t think. Few recover, and regardless if he is nobility, the Black Death choses its hapless victims with greed.”

Gavin was quiet for a few moments. “Ma’am… how much do you know of the Word?”

“I have much of it memorized, sir. Why do you ask?”

“Is it… possible… that the Lord could give life back into someone who has died?”

“He has before, into Lazarus, into the Son. Why do you ask?”

“I just…. Could he do it again, do you think? Today?”

“If he so chose to do so, I’m certain he could.”

Gavin fell into his thoughts once more. Perhaps he should visit the priest…

“What day is today?”

Beatrice told him. Gavin nearly choked once more. It was the same day he died. He should go home, tell his parents–wait. No. He could not. They would accuse him of witchcraft, of consorting with the devil, selling his soul to live again. They would not see that this was a miracle. He had to see a priest immediately. “Where is the nearest church?”

“It’s just off of the land we rent, about half of a furlong to the south.”

“I must go there as soon as possible.” Gavin began to stand.

“Not until you finish your meal,” Beatrice scolded. “You need nourishment. You’re far too thin.”

Gavin sat back down to finish eating. Not that there was much left to eat, but he ate every last bite.

“There you are, lad. Come, come, now, why are you in such a rush to get to the church?”

“I have to speak with a priest immediately. It’s private matters.”

“Very well. Will you need supplies?”

Gavin paused. “I don’t believe I will. It isn’t far. I can walk there. I thank you, lady. I am humbled by your kindness.” He patted his pockets. Surely he had coin to give. He did not find money, but there were rings on his fingers. He twisted one off and held it out on his palm. “Please, accept this. I can’t leave knowing your grace without repaying you.”

Beatrice stared at him for a moment. “My, my, sir, you are strange. If you do insist, very well. I thank you for such a generous gift.” When she took the ring, her eyes widened. It was pure gold, set with a small precious gem, worth a lot of money. The least expensive of the jewelry he owned, but more than she had probably encountered in her life. “Sir… m-my lord…”

Gavin gave her a quirky smile as he moved to the door. “Do with it what you will, lady. God bless ye.” He bowed and exited the house. It was about midday, so without further ado he began the trek south, checking every sign and squinting at the sun. It took a while to reach the church, and when he did, he stopped, in awe of the crowd gathering in front of it. A couple passed by him, and he caught a part of their conversation.

“–witchery. I cannot believe that Sir Gawain–”

“No, the devil played some part in this, no doubt…”

Oh. That was… bad. Gavin lowered his hat over his face and found a spot by a grove of trees to hide.

The priest stood outside the church, Gavin’s family behind him. His mother was crying and praying loudly, his brother silent and frightened, his father just as quiet but pale and stone faced.

“Good citizens,” the priest called. “Children of our Lord. Please, calm down and listen.”

Someone yelled from the crowd, “Is there a devil in our baron’s castle?”

The priest called again for quiet. “I did not sense a presence whilst there. Sir Gawain has, indeed, passed on from the Black Death. It may have simply been an abnormality of the illness that his body dissolved so–”

“People don’t do that!” Another angry voice shouted. “That’s not a thing that happens, not without help of the devil!”

“In any case, the family has lost their child. I will return to the castle to perform an exorcism, in case there is a devil in the estate. We mourn their loss and we will hold a funeral, regardless of the lack of a corpse.”

Gavin couldn’t stand to hear any more. He could not stay here. He walked away from the church and searched for where the people had tied their horses. He found his family’s easily, and mounted one of them.

“Hey, you can’t be here! That isn’t yours!”

Gavin turned panicked eyes to the man guarding the horses. The guard’s eyes widened as big as Gavin’s. “By God above…”

Gavin kicked the horse. “Hiya! Giddap!” The horse whinnied loudly and took off, galloping down the road. Gavin clung to the horse with one hand and his hat with the other.

He went home. That was the only place he could think to go. He asked one traveller the direction the Free estate, and was off like a shot from a crossbow.

Fortunately, a childhood of mischief had led Gavin to discover all of the servant chambers, halls, and the hidden rooms and passageways. He slipped into one, grunting at the tighter fit than he remembered, and shimmied his way through. This would let him out into a hall near to his room. In the same hall was another passage that would lead to his private bath chamber which was connected to his room, so he could slip in there if he had to. Stealth was a big thing here.

The passage opened up from a wooden panel on the wall, covered by a tapestry. Gavin shifted the panel aside and peered out from behind the tapestry. There was no one in the hall. He slipped out and crept toward his room.

He heard voices and scrambled to find the hidden passage leading to his bath chamber. It was very narrow, too narrow for him to slip through anymore, but enough that he could hide. He waited with baited breath for the servants to pass by. When they did, he went out of the passage, rubbing his sore shoulders. He went to his room and quietly stepped inside.

It smelled of sickness still, lit up with candles and the window open, from when his family had rushed from the house. Gavin grimaced at the bed and moved to change from his formal clothes to something more comfortable. He had plenty of casual upper class clothing, so he put a few sets in a pack after changing. He took most of his jewelry, pocketing it and putting it in the bag, along with money. He was glad he’d forgotten to return his sword to the armory and strapped it to his hip, along with a fancy dagger that had been used as decoration but was still deadly enough. He dumped a couple of unlit candles and a fire starter in the pack as well.

Could he sneak to the kitchen to grab food? He shrugged on his pack and as a second thought grabbed a kerchief off of a table and tied it around the bottom half of his face.

Out of his room he snuck and took servant passes, unused while the family was away, to the kitchen. It was fairly empty, with most servants slacking off with the baron away. Gavin was annoyed by that, but ignored it. He stuffed bread, some fruits and vegetables, and a wrapped piece of cooked hare into his bag. Hopefully it would be enough. He should grab his bow, he decided, and once he had the food, made his way to the armory. It was completely deserted. He grabbed his bow, his most prized of possessions. He hung it from his pack and looked to find a quiver and arrows. He frowned.His quiver was missing.

“Are you looking for this?”

Gavin spun around. A child, no more than ten, was holding his quiver. The child was calm faced, probably a servant’s offspring.

“Give me that,” Gavin said, pitching his voice a little.

“This is Sir Gawain’s.”

“It isn’t your business, child.”

“You are not fooling me, sir.”

Gavin faltered. “P-pardon me?”

“My lord, why are you alive?”

“I’m–I’m–”

“Or do you not know?” The child’s head tilted.

“I don’t know,” murmured the baron.

“Are you running away?”

“They will think me a witch or a devil. I can’t stay.”

The child held out the quiver. “God be with you, my lord.”

Gavin picked it up and put it on his back. “Do not tell anyone you saw me.”

The child grinned, front teeth charmingly crooked. “You have my word.”

He patted the child on the head and escaped from the armory. He skulked his way back to his horse and cantered away, off the land, and north.

Time went by. Gavin made it to London and died once more, from the plague again, much to his annoyance and his panic. He made a fair living doing mundane jobs, selling off pieces of his jewelry if he needed to. The time of the Black Death passed and people recovered. Gavin realized after a while that he couldn’t be hurt. He could, but it healed alarmingly fast, so quickly that he never needed medicines. His clumsiness caused more than a few deaths for him, but he became adept at lying. He also found that pickpocketing was fun, too, despite never really needing it, having plenty of money from his jewelry cache. His smooth talking won him favors with important people and he slipped back into wealth within a few years. He then found that he wasn’t aging. That was a problem. People would get suspicious. Gavin had no explanation for why he could do what he did, and eventually decided he didn’t care, because it was pretty cool, as he would call it in a few centuries.

He had to fake his death every couple of years before regaining his wealth with different people in different places. He began to travel. It was easy to travel, he found, and fun. He toured Europe, watching history change around him, but never getting directly involved. Enough to keep plenty of money on hand, but power was pointless. He liked shiny things and possessions and nice clothes and good food. He liked Shakespeare a lot and attended many of his plays. He passed over the opportunity to travel to the New World, having no interest in leaving Europe and his money. When the cities were established and the Americans were growing restless, he went over to see what it was like. He bailed quickly as the Revolution began, returning to England. He taught himself to fight with more than a sword and bow, but found he disliked guns. Pistols were all right but anything more just didn’t fit right with him. He stayed as far from war as he could, but eventually got tangled in the World Wars, particularly the second when Germany had blimps hovering around London.

At the end of the second world war he traveled to America, where he moved to Texas and accidentally met Geoff Ramsey when he pickpocketed the man and had a knife in his chest before he could escape. Gavin’s panic had Geoff take pity on him and his speedy healing had Geoff and Gavin share secrets. Geoff was already living with a woman named Jack, an assimilated French lady from the days of the Revolution in France. Gavin fell in well with them, with his talents as a liar and a thief. They moved to Los Santos and watched the city become a haven, one of excitement and danger, for criminals and forged their names as the Fake AH Crew. Michael and Ray showed up in the nineties, and finally Ryan joined. Gavin painted his way with golden weapons the color of the jewelry he sported as much as he could and lived rolling in money and glittering gems to his hearts content. It wasn’t a life of morality, but Gavin had fun, he had money, and most importantly he had people he cared about who wouldn’t double cross him. Even if they did shoot him a few times, or several.

 

He still had nightmares about birds and the smell of dried herbs made him want to vomit, though.

**Author's Note:**

> The second of several origin stories for the Immortal Fake AH Crew. You can read all of them and more at immortal-fahc.tumblr.com


End file.
